Such a Flirt
by Nightsmoke
Summary: Rory and Amy remark on the curious repartee River and the Doctor have. First DW fic.


All characters © Doctor Who

_Summary:_ Rory and Amy remark on the curious repartee River and the Doctor have.

_Author's note:_ my first DW fic. I made up some space terms (c-can I do that?).

* * *

><p><em><strong>Such a Flirt<strong>_

The Doctor once described River Song as your typical game of Whac-A-Mole. Putting aside the crudeness (and underlying humor) of the comparison, it was more than accurate; simply, sometimes she popped up, sometimes she didn't. By now Amy, Rory, and the Doctor had gotten used to her sporadic visits that left them more exhausted than not when she left. So, if Doctor Song ever decided to pop up or pop in, depending where they were in the universe, the TARDIS and its inhabitants were prepared.

Rory and Amy knew to have an extra hair-curler for when she came, to keep the swimming pool open for her, and they knew to duck when the Doctor put on any kind of headgear. The Doctor and River together created some kind of wild, spicy cocktail that you both wanted to taste but at the same time knew to stay far away from lest it leave you with an unwanted case of indigestion. But you kind of got used to that after a while.

What Rory and Amy still _hadn't_ quite wrapped their heads around was the banter. River and the Doctor's almost constant chaffing—quick back-and-forth repartee that was positively rife with esoteric innuendos. Half of it was filled with intergalactic jargon that two measly humans didn't have a chance in understanding, and the other half sounded a whole lot worse than it probably was (considering the Doctor's past romantic experiences, or lack thereof).

The way Rory saw it, River and the Doctor's banter could be classified into two categories. First, there was the arguing, which was not so much fighting as it was like listening to a couple long-married quarrel about trifling, picayune things. In these cases River would lecture the Doctor on something or another, usually about his flying skills or some past escapade, and the Doctor would protest in that slightly put-out but not really annoyed way of his as he fiddled with something on the console.

Neither Rory nor Amy could ever keep up arguments like that with the Doctor, since they didn't know nearly half as much about the universe as River did. It was kind of fun to watch the Doctor flounder in the presence of someone on par with him both verbally and intellectually, even if all he and River did was squabble.

Rory could never tell if they were serious about any of it, or if they were just trying to pass the time. Either way, it was fascinating to watch.

/

"You're doing it wrong, sweetie."

"I'm doing it just fine, thank you. It doesn't affect the dematerialization circuit, so there's not really much of a difference and she's never had a problem before."

"But all you need to do is pull the diagonal portal pistons all the way down and—"

"Did I teach you that? Because that doesn't sound like something I'd do. I _like_ the sound. It's very homey."

"Trust me; flying with the breaks on starts giving you headaches in your old age. A millennium of rusting can do that."

"Oh come on, it's not that bad."

"Better start stocking up on the aspirin then, shall we, Doctor?"

"That's really not funny, you know."

/

Flying the TARDIS was usually the main topic of argument. The second, which Rory and Amy unanimously sided with River on, was the Doctor's sense of fashion. Actually, they tended to side with River on most of her and the Doctor's bickering, since her sides usually held more gravity (even in the TARDIS, hah!). In addition to all the quips and quibbles of "the fashion police have lost their box," River seemed to have a pretty decent sense of what was "cool" and what was not.

Rory and Amy had to laugh at these exchanges, both at the hilarity of it all and at the potential horror of what the Doctor would don if left to his own devices.

/

"No-no-no-no, wait, what are you doing?"

"If you insist on wearing that abomination, at least make sure it's straight!" River reached over and adjusted the Doctor's bow tie. It was maroon today.

"It is _not_ an abomination! It's a bow tie, and it's cool."

"On what galaxy, sweetie?"

"Winston Churchill, Karl Marx, Charlie Chaplin, Vladimir Horowitz, Frank Sinatra—they all wore bow ties. Are you saying they're not cool?"

"I'm saying their sense of fashion isn't. Why don't you just remove it?"

"What, like you 'removed' my fez?"

"If need be. I'm fully loaded."

"I was thinking of a Keffiyeh next, you know..."

"Don't you _dare._ Do that, and I'll personally replace your entire wardrobe."

"Doctor Song. You wouldn't."

"I would. And I'd replace it with nothing at all."

"Why do I get the feeling you'd like that?"

"Spoilers, Doctor."

/

The way Amy saw it, the Doctor and River's second kind of banter was the flirting type. Innuendos would always be innuendos, galaxy, language, or century regardless.

That kind of talk was alright for private, but privacy was not in the Doctor's substantial cache of words and phrases. The one thing that the Doctor and River had trouble distinguishing, much to Amy and Rory's dismay, was the appropriate time and place to rub their verbal elbows together. The friction it created was both awkward and a little inappropriate since it usually took place at the TARDIS console or in the presence of Amy and Rory. Often both.

Dismissing the "Mrs. Robinson" jibes, the Doctor could actually be pretty snarky when the conversation called for it. This side of him seemed to amuse River to no end and she loved baiting him. The Doctor never seemed reluctant to oblige either, so Amy guessed that he was also having fun on some level.

Even after all this time, though, she could never tell when the Doctor was just playing along, or if it actually turned him on. Perhaps it was a little bit of both, but one could never be entirely sure.

Admittedly, there was something about their kind of flirtatious raillery that was so utterly..._human_ that Amy found it quite adorable. And a little disturbing at the same time, because there were simply some things you just _didn't want to know._

/

"Remind me again, how many times have you broken out now?"

"Six hundred eighty three."

"And all for me?"

"Stormcage guards are so boring, sweetie. I get lonely. They don't have your...pizazz."

"My pizazz, I see. Are you sure it wasn't the lack of incredibly dashing bow ties in their detaining apparel?"

River smiled cattily. "Mention that ghastly thing one more time and I'll _show you_ detaining apparel."

"Oh, naughty, River. So uneducated in the ways of sartorial sophistication. But I bet you kiss them more than you do me just to get out."

"Only to get out. The lipstick works wonders, but honestly, they're all terrible kissers."

"What are you talking about? Humans are the second best kissers in the northern quadrisphere. First are the Geerkings, if you were wondering."

"Really? Not them, surely."

(_The Geerkings?_ Rory mouthed silently to Amy, who merely stuck out her bottom lip and shrugged.)

"Where do you think the humans learned it from, anyway?" The Doctor was saying, as if it was as obvious as the answer to one plus one (which to him, it was). "They're the only species I know who can properly tongue..."

/

Rory and Amy furtively tried to busy themselves around the main console, all the while pretending not to listen to the Doctor and River's conversation about ancient galactic snogging methods, among other various topics.

"Aren't you glad we never talk like that?" Rory muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Amy.

"Oh come on," she whispered, pressing some buttons on the side of the smaller screen. "It's kind of cute. And they look like they're having fun." She glanced over at River, who had her wild head of hair thrown back in laughter. The Doctor himself was smiling a little half-smile, an eyebrow raised.

"...but that's what a holster's _for,_ sweetie."

Rory gave Amy a look. "Cute?" he repeated. "If I ever said anything like that you'd probably slap me."

"I did."

"Wait. When?"

"Remember at Patty Blanchard's, when we were seventeen? You were drunk and saucier than my dad's crab pâté."

"Oh, yeah, um. Vaguely." Rory jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "See? I think it's great that we don't need to do all...that," he concluded as he gestured to the other two, effectively proving Amy's point and directing the subject matter out of sensitive waters.

"That's why you can never hit fifty knarfs," River was saying now, "because you don't pull the speed velocity lever all the way to the left."

"That's because it doesn't _go_ all the way to the left. I don't need to be taught how to drive my own TARDIS, for goodness sake!"

"You just don't bother to turn it all the way, sweetie. Look, it doesn't even need to go past the red, and it won't break if you just—" the TARDIS gave a sudden lurch.

"Well if you stop _jerking_ it like that—"

"Oh, shut up. You like when I jerk it."

Rory wore an expression somewhere in the middle of being highly disgusted and slightly amused. "Yyyyeah," he said absently. "I kind of like the way we talk, you know."

Amy smiled and pulled Rory close, stroking his hair. "You're right," she muttered.

_end._


End file.
